


Honourable Intentions

by lillupon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, Insecure merlin, M/M, Oblivious Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 20:31:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14723111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillupon/pseuds/lillupon
Summary: a kinksofcamelot fill for the prompt: “Merlin is asked out to have a drink at a tavern by a very handsome man, and is humiliated when said man doesn’t show up. Cue Arthur saving the day, in a very prattish - if charming - fashion.”





	Honourable Intentions

Merlin glances at the tavern entrance. The doors never remain closed for long, the townspeople leaving their businesses and farms for the day to relax and drink with friends. The tavern is packed tonight and the conversation is raucous, but Merlin sits alone in the corner, nursing the same cider he had ordered an hour ago. 

Petar is late. Or Merlin had gotten their meeting time wrong. He can be absent-minded at times, as Arthur will never let him forget. He frowns at his reflection in his drink. Had Petar said to meet at the tavern tomorrow, instead of tonight? He had assumed they would meet at the Rising Sun, but perhaps there’s another tavern in town he doesn’t know about, even though the chances of that are unlikely. But what if Petar is waiting for him at a different tavern, anxiously glancing at the door the way Merlin does now?

There’s another possibility he hasn’t let himself consider for long. But as night falls and Petar has yet to show his face, Merlin is starting to think he has been made the fool of a joke. His heart sinks a little in his chest. He feels like a colossal idiot now, dressed in his best clothes—a blue tunic handed down to him from Arthur, the dye’s pigment still bright—in hopes of impressing a man that is likely laughing at him. He should have known a rakishly handsome and wealthy merchant like Petar would hardly show interest in a servant like him.

“Ugh. Stupid. Stupid…” he mutters to himself.

Gods, Arthur is going to have a good laugh at him in the morning. Earlier in the day, Merlin had begged for the night off. Arthur had seemed willing to grant him a few hours in the evening until Merlin said he was meeting someone. From that point on, Arthur was even more of an arse than usual, complaining about all the work that had to be done around the castle; about how Merlin was a terrible servant who shouldn’t be taking time off. He had given Merlin task after task, and for once, Merlin put his head down and worked. The faster he finished everything, the sooner he could meet Petar. Except the list of chores were neverending, even as the sun began to set, and Merlin wanted to _go_ , goddammit, unable to keep himself from glaring at Arthur with wet eyes. Arthur gave him a long look before sighing heavily and dismissing him with a wave of his hand. This worries him, too; what if Petar had been here hours ago, but Merlin was the one who hadn’t shown, held back by his chores?

Someone steps into his space, their shadow falling over him. A wide and relieved smile stretches across his face. He must have gotten the time wrong after all, or Petar had been delayed by something out of his control. Except when he looks up, he sees not Petar, but Arthur. He’s wearing the blue cloak he always does when he wants to sneak around without being noticed, except the richness of colour and the weight of the material only serves to make him stand out like a sore thumb. Fortunately, the tavern’s occupants pay little mind to them, deep in their own conversations.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy to see me,” Arthur says.

Merlin deflates and turns back to his drink. “I thought you were someone else.”

Arthur slides into the seat opposite him. “Most people would be honoured to see their king.”

“I already see you for more hours in a day than I care to,” Merlin says.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” Arthur looks around the tavern. “So. Where’s this Petar fellow?”

This is the part he’s been dreading. Arthur can be cruel with his words without knowing it. Has said often enough Merlin is as ugly is as he stupid, and Arthur has always made it clear what he thinks of Merlin’s intelligence. Merlin isn’t sure if he can bear to hear it tonight.

“He didn’t show up,” he says. 

“You’ve been sitting here, waiting for him this entire time?” Arthur asks.

Merlin shrugs, uncomfortable. “I thought he might be late and then I lost track of time.”

“Well, it’s good thing I came around to keep you company, then. You’d look like a sorry fool otherwise.”

And that makes him wonder—what _is_ Arthur doing here? As far as he knows, Arthur seldom visits taverns and there is no better wine in Camelot than the vintage served in the castle. He’s probably here to see Merlin make a complete arse out of himself, but that doesn’t seem right, either. Merlin does that enough throughout the day. Before he can ask, Arthur flags down a barmaid.

She does a double-take when she sees him. “My lord,” she stammers, dropping into a curtsy.

“Your best ale. One for each of us,” Arthur says.

“Of course, my lord. Right away.”

Once the barmaid has rushed off, Merlin says, “I thought you couldn’t be seen buying drinks for your servant.”

“Who said I’m buying?”

“Well, I certainly don’t get paid enough to afford two pints of the finest ale here.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Relax, Merlin. Of course I’m paying.”

* 

As the night progresses, Arthur somehow ends up drifting closer to him. Arthur’s in the middle of a hunting tale that no doubt impresses his men and the ladies of the court, but only makes Merin wonder how Arthur managed to survive this long without him. Arthur has always been a captivating storyteller. He talks with his hands and pauses in all the right places so that his audience leans forward, eager to hear the rest. Merlin doesn’t realise how close they’ve gotten until their heads are nearly touching and their shoulders are pressed together in a searing line. It jolts him out of the daze he’s in. 

Merlin straightens in his seat and puts some distance between them. In his chest, his heart beats a little quicker than usual. His eyes slide away from Arthur’s face to glance around the tavern. No one has seemed to notice how cozy their king and his manservant are getting.

Arthur breaks off in the middle of his tale. “Honestly, Merlin. Are you still hoping Petar will come? Forget about him. He’s already made it clear he has no interest in you.”

“I know that,” Merlin says. “I kind of expected it. I just…” 

“You thought he wouldn’t show up and yet you came here anyway.”

Merlin shrugs with one shoulder. “I couldn’t be sure.”

“You could do better than him,” Arthur says. 

“Yes, of course. I’ll just move onto the next person in my very long line of suitors,” Merlin says. “You wouldn’t believe the number of people in Camelot who love men with gangly arms and over-large ears.”

Arthur looks at him and then says slowly, “Do you not think you’re attractive?”

How is he to say that with Arthur hanging around him all the time, eclipsing him with his golden hair and sunny smile, that people don’t usually look twice at him? That he’s never felt like he was much to look at in the first place? Alcohol may have lowered his guard, but those are still things he’ll never admit.

Arthur takes his silence as an answer. “Who made you feel this way?”

“No one. I just happen to own a mirror.”

Arthur takes a swig of his ale and then sets down his tankard with a thud. “Merlin,” he says, using his ‘ _now listen here, you bloody idiot’_ voice. “You are doing just fine for yourself.”

Merlin huffs out a laugh. It’s obvious Arthur has never had to comfort anyone in his life, and he’s flattered Arthur finds him worth the effort. “Well, if you think so, then I must be.”

“You’re not so bad looking.” Arthur cocks his head and squints at him. “I might even call you handsome, if I squint.”

“A more generous compliment has never been given,” Merlin says dryly.

Arthur reaches out to tug at his ear. “And I’m sure there’s someone out there who finds these ears of yours charming. Not me, of course. But someone.”

Merlin bats Arthur’s hand away, glaring. “Alright, Arthur. You can stop now.”

“And you’ve got…” Arthur waves a vague hand over Merlin’s face. “Lips.”

Merlin snorts. “Only me and everyone else on this earth.”

“But yours. Yours are a particular shape,” Arthur struggles. “Pleasing. Full, one might say.” 

“Stop, Arthur. You’re terrible at this. It’s embarrassing,” Merlin says with a laugh, annoyance turning into affection. Lightly smacks Arthur in the arm, almost like… like he’s _flirting_ , which is crazy. This is Arthur. His king, for god’s sake. A servant isn’t supposed to flirt with their master. Not when their master is as much a prat and clotpole as Arthur.

“I’m trying to make you feel better. Are you really going to make fun of me for that?” Arthur gives him a toothy smile, eyes going to his bicep where Merlin’s hand rests. 

Merlin lets his hand drop away, self-conscious. “I suppose I could let you continue to extol my beauty.”

* 

They walk back to the castle together, hands bumping and shoulders brushing. Merlin feels flushed and happy with drink. He stumbles over a loose cobblestone and Arthur’s arm shoots out to wrap around his waist to steady him.

“Careful,” Arthur says.

“Okay,” Merlin says, and then stumbles again so he can feel Arthur’s grip tighten on him.

Arthur keeps a precautionary arm low around his waist. He can feel the heat of Arthur’s palm like a brand on his side. It takes a moment for him to realise Arthur is walking him back to his chambers. 

“I can make it back on my own,” Merlin says. 

“Doubtful,” Arthur says. “It’s not a big deal, Merlin.”

It sort of is, though, because Arthur’s own chambers are located in a different wing. After the night they had, it leaves him feeling wrong-footed. There’s a warmth low in his belly that has nothing to do with the cider. Arthur had been kind to him tonight, in that prattish way of his. If it weren’t for him, Merlin would be curled up in bed, feeling humiliated and unwanted. 

They come to a stop in front of his chambers. Arthur leans against the wall, sliding his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

“Aren’t you going to give me a kiss?” Arthur asks. There’s a crooked little grin on his lips, the one that displays his snaggletooth and Merlin finds more endearing than he will ever admit. 

Merlin bites his lip. He knows it’s a joke. The only kind of affection Arthur does is a punch to the arm or his knuckles in Merlin’s hair. If he were feeling bolder, he’d plant a big one right on Arthur’s lips and then laugh it off when Arthur pretends to gag. But tonight he’s been made wary, and he holds his heart closer to himself. 

Arthur looks at him expectantly, awaiting his response. 

“I doubt you’d want my servant germs anywhere near your face,” Merlin says.

Arthur’s grin falters before returning at full force. “‘Course not. Er, anyway. That was fun.”

“It was.” 

“You wouldn’t have nearly as much fun with Petar.”

“Of course not,” Merlin agrees indulgently. Everything has to be a competition with Arthur.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been able to relax like that. To forget all about being king for one night and just be a normal person… I needed that.” Arthur clears his throat. “We ought to do it again.”

“The knights meet for drinks at the tavern at the end of every week. I’m sure they’d love for you to join them,” Merlin says. 

“Oh. Actually,” Arthur says, stilted, fumbling. “I was thinking it might be just you and me.” 

Merlin rolls his eyes. If Arthur thinks he’d willingly subject himself to hours of being insulted, then he’s wrong. He’s about to say so when he sees the expression on Arthur’s face: open and vulnerable. The words stall on his tongue. In the soft torchlight, Arthur looks younger than his years, reminding Merlin of the carefree prince he used to be. He used to be able to read Arthur’s heart all over his face, but Arthur had become more guarded with his emotions when he ascended to the throne. His laughter and smiles had grown subdued.

Merlin thinks about how bright Arthur’s eyes were tonight, how the smile had hardly left his face for longer than a second. He thinks about how Arthur had playfully asked him for a kiss, and how he had looked crushed for all but a second before regaining himself. And then now, when he asked for a repeat of the night.

Oh, Merlin realises. 

He ducks his head, feeling his cheeks overcome by a blaze of heat.

“Nevermind,” Arthur says. His voice is closed off—hurt. He pushes himself off the wall and straightens, the cool air rushing in to fill the space he had occupied. “It was only an idea. I’ll see you in the morning, Merlin. Do try to be on time for once.” 

Before Arthur can turn away, Merlin calls out, “No, Arthur, wait.”

Arthur raises a brow at him. Inclines his head as though asking, _‘Well? What is it?’_

“I’d like that,” Merlin says. “Spending time with just the two of us, I mean.” He’s blushing terribly, he knows. He feels like a village girl being taken out on a date for the first time, shy and inexperienced. He’s been around with girls before, but they could hardly prepare him for Arthur, who up until now seemed desperately out of reach.

“Yeah?” Arthur asks, a smile tugging at his lips again. He clears his throat. “I mean, yeah. Of course you would. I’m the king. And I’m funny. Intelligent. Handsome.”

“And humble, too,” Merlin says. How someone can be both endearing and an arrogant ass, he will never know.

“Yes, that too.”

Merlin laughs. “You are something else, sire, truly. I have no words for it.”

Arthur hums, looking pleased with himself. “I shall see you in the morning, then. Good night, Merlin.”

“Good night, Arthur.” 

Neither of them moves. In a moment of boldness, Merlin darts in, touching his lips to the corner of Arthur’s mouth. He lets the press of his lips linger there. Hopes Arthur will turn his head slightly to meet him, except Arthur remains frozen solid. Merlin rocks back on his heels and finds Arthur staring at him, eyes wide with shock and jaw slack. He would have laughed if he didn’t also feel like throwing up. 

“I—um,” Merlin stammers. “I think I might have read this all wrong.” It was cruel of Arthur to phrase his question like that, to suggest spending time with just the two of them without meaning it as a date. His face is so hot he fears he might die. He tugs at his neckerchief. Considers using the invisibility spell he has been practising and never showing his face in Camelot again. He isn’t sure what will be worse: Arthur discovering he has magic, or Arthur gently letting him down for a second time that night with pity in his eyes. 

“I better…” Merlin jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “It’s late. So if there’s nothing else, I should get to sleep. I’ve got to get up early and all that.” He retreats a step and tries to hide his body behind the door. 

Arthur’s hand shoots out to close around his waist.

Merlin’s eyes fall to where Arthur grips him. “Um,” he says dumbly. 

“Idiot,” Arthur says, voice low and fond in a way Merlin has never heard before. It sends a warm shiver down his spine and makes his heart do a dramatic flip in his chest. Arthur says ‘idiot’ the same way couples say ‘my love’.

“You like it,” Merlin says weakly, half-jesting.

“God help me, I do.” Arthur’s hand slides up his arm to cup the back of his neck. Strokes the delicate skin there with his thumb. His lashes have fallen to half-mast and his eyes are dark as he gazes at Merlin’s mouth. It’s not the first time Merlin has thought Arthur to be the most handsome man he has ever seen, but it is the first time he aches with it.

Merlin’s mouth has gone dry and he wonders if Arthur can hear how loudly Merlin’s heart beats for him. He flicks his tongue out to wet his lips.

Arthur makes a soft sound in the back of his throat. He closes in, slanting their mouths together. Arthur’s lips are dry and chapped, and there’s a hint of alcohol still on them. 

Arthur is slow to pull away. He gives a lush-lipped smile that makes Merlin’s knees buckle. “Sweet dreams, Merlin.”

Merlin nods and watches Arthur go. He wobbles up the stairs to his room, collapses face-first into his pillow, and squeals. 


End file.
